On the Saucy Side
by mossley
Summary: Tomatoes, chocolate, Sara in bed, Grissom with asparagus. It actually is somewhat coherent. GS. This is my entry to this week's Unbound Improv Challenge.


**On the Saucy Side  
****Summary:** Tomatoes, chocolate, Sara in bed, Grissom with asparagus. It actually is somewhat coherent. G/S.  
**A/N:** This story is actually a sequel to last week's story, _Sweet Dreams_, but you probably don't need to read it first. This is my entry to this week's Unbound Improv Challenge. First and last lines are provided, with 1,000 words to finish it. Many thanks to Burked, Marlou and Ann for their beta skills!  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Trust me, I have nothing to do with CSI, and they wouldn't want anything to do with this!

Grissom approached the tomato warily.

"It's not poisonous, you know."

Looking up, he saw Sara raise an eyebrow challengingly at him. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she waited for him to pick up his fork.

After a virulent infection landed him in the hospital, Sara had cut her vacation short. She'd spent every day visiting him, bringing him crossword puzzles, and she'd even volunteered to take care of his bugs. Grissom had promised to make it up to her, and on the day of his release, he had invited her out for dinner.

Sara had surprised him by insisting on cooking the meal herself. Since he was still recovering, a quiet meal at home probably was more his speed. And it did give them more privacy.

But this was Sara: the woman who knew every carryout delivery boy in this section of Las Vegas by name.

Unable to think off a safe reason to turn her down, he'd accepted. Now, he was sitting in her apartment staring at the stuffed tomato appetizer before him. Planting a smile on his face, he tentatively probed the dark crust with his knife.

"You know," he said with a delaying grin, "it used to be a common belief that tomatoes were poisonous."

"Because they're members of the nightshade family, which has several very deadly members. And the smell from the vines and stems can be nasty."

Grissom's nod of appreciation grew as she continued.

"Thomas Jefferson grew a number of varieties at Monticello. He'd eat them in front of his guests to show they weren't poisonous."

"You're very impressive."

"You don't know the half of it," Sara said, dropping her eyes quickly. It had been intended to be an innocent comment, but it came out a bit suggestive.

"I hope to find out," Grissom said salaciously.

"He didn't know about ketchup, though," she added, trying to regain control of the conversation, smiling when he gave her a puzzled look. "Jefferson's credited with introducing French fries to America."

"A man of many talents."

"And he wasn't afraid to eat his tomatoes," she said, her gaze never leaving his as she sipped her water. It had been ice water, but it seemed to be melting rapidly as she held the glass.

Grissom forced another smile as he retrieved his fork. Slicing off a small section, he tried to surreptitiously inspect the tidbit as he brought it to his lips. He considered he had every right to be nervous. The last mystery object he tasted put him in the hospital for a week.

"This, this is … delicious," Grissom salivated.

Sara gave him a self-satisfied smirk as she sliced her own appetizer. "I don't normally cook. That doesn't mean I can't."

"You should more often. You're gifted," he said, pausing to savor another bite.

"It's a hassle. I only do it on special occasions," she said with a self-depreciating shrug.

"Is this a special occasion?" Grissom asked softly, his eyes locking with hers.

"So far," Sara answered, hoping she wasn't blushing as much as she thought she was.

"I'll never doubt your abilities again."

"And this is just the appetizer." The statement was innocent enough, but it carried a hint of something more. They continued to watch each other, both feeling the pleasant tension rising.

Grissom dropped his eyes back to his plate as she shifted position. Her apartment was a small efficiency. It didn't have a dining area other than the breakfast bar. To improvise, Sara had cleared her desk, covering it with a tablecloth and candles. He was sitting on one side in her computer chair, while she used the edge of the bed as her chair.

He was with Sara. While she was in bed. He was with Sara while she was in bed.

Grissom swallowed nervously as he tried not to let his imagination run ahead of him. This was a first date, after all. But she looked incredible, her hair falling in soft curls, and the candlelight highlighting the delicate features of her face.

And she was in bed.

Grissom cleared his throat, taking a long sip of water before standing up to clear the dirty dishes while Sara went to get the main course. He leaned over her shoulder as she dished the roasted asparagus and a risotto.

"It smells wonderful," he whispered, his nose millimeters from her hair.

"Wait until you taste it," she said, blushing again. It really was an innocent comment. Turning around, Sara wasn't sure to be relieved or more embarrassed to see that Grissom was also blushing, though he covered his with a grin.

"I'm sure it will be very … pleasurable."

"So do I, … uhm, rolls. I need something to put the rolls in," Sara said, wondering how her mouth was capable of functioning so far ahead of her brain. She needed to turn the conversation back to something safe.

"Grissom, you never did explain that chocolate comment at the hospital," she said, once they were seated again. When he turned beet-red, Sara wondered what minefield she'd just somersaulted into.

"I was probably delirious," he offered, concentrating on his asparagus. It was considered an aphrodisiac. He was with Sara. Sara was in bed. He was eating an aphrodisiac. Oh, Lord.

"Then why are you blushing?" As soon as she asked, Sara wanted to slap herself on the head. An inquisitive nature was great as a CSI, but there were times when it only got her in trouble.

"I probably was talking about a comment I overheard," Grissom finally answered, fixing her with an intense stare as she gave a bewildered shrug. "That you made. A comparison of chocolate."

"A comment I made about chocolate? Oh," she said, dropping her gaze to her plate. When she looked up, Sara gave him a lopsided grin. "It's definitely true."

"Are we talking about the same comment?" Grissom asked, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause sex is … sex. There's nothing emotional to it."

"And what about love-making?" he said huskily. Where had the husk come from? They were having dinner. And Sara was still in bed. Damn.

"Depends on the lover," she said, dropping her eyes back to her plate. They finished the meal in relative silence, with Grissom occasionally complimenting her on her cooking, being extra careful to avoid anything remotely suggestive.

Once again, Grissom cleared the table while Sara went to get the dessert. As he placed the plates in the sink, she retrieved a decadent-looking chocolate creation from the refrigerator.

"You're not going to tell me that you made that," Grissom said, biting back his initial question about whether she wanted to do an experiment.

"Yeah, actually, I did." She closed her eyes as he moved up behind her, placing his hands on her waist. His fingers made small circles, gently caressing her. She could feel his breath on her neck as his lips approached. "Think you can compare to it?"

Grissom stopped his motions suddenly, blinking in shock. Had she just … was that an invitation … were they …? Sara in bed. With him.

"Plates. Dessert plates. They're up there. Why don't you get them?" Sara suggested, grasping the counter for support. Where had that come from? Did she just … yeah, she had.

She whirled around at the crash. A forgotten bag of soy flour had been sitting on top of the seldom-used dishes. When Grissom whipped them down, the bag had overturned on his head, giving him a dusting of pale-yellow meal.

Walking up to him, a giggle finally escaped from Sara. She slid her arms around him as they both began laughing. Pulling back, Grissom brushed a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning in for a kiss.

It was one both of them would remember.

Unfortunately.

They pulled back, trying not to wrinkle their faces in disgust. Sara reached up to brush the foul-tasting flour from his lips. She chucked as he began plucking debris from his beard.

**The End**


End file.
